


push me (further than i thought i could go)

by peacefrog



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Card Games, Edging, Eliot Waugh's Canonically Huge Dick, Face-Fucking, Hedge Witch Eliot Waugh, M/M, Oral Sex, Strip Games
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-22 23:27:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20882423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peacefrog/pseuds/peacefrog
Summary: When it came to the game of Push, Quentin Coldwater was the best.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Big shout out to my RAO babes for cheering me on every step of the way with this one, and for generally being the best always. And an extra special thank you to AJ and Gigi for coming up with the perfect title. This was only ever meant to be one chapter, and then it turned into one chapter + a short epilogue... and then that epilogue turned into 5k words of filth because these two just won't let me live. 
> 
> These might just be the longest sex scenes I've ever written, and I hope you all enjoy. <3

When it came to the game of Push, Quentin Coldwater was the best. And that wasn’t just his ego talking, he had the wins to prove it. Undefeated, he was the reigning champion of the Eastern Seaboard, so when Lionel eyed the cards fanned out on the table and said, “It’s a tie,” Quentin’s heart went cold in his chest.

“That’s impossible. You can’t tie in a tie-breaker.”

“Yeah, well, you just did.” Lionel swept the cards into a neat stack with a flourish of his hand. “Split the loot. Tournament’s over.”

Quentin’s chair scraped loudly against the floor as he pushed back from the table. “What the fuck, Lionel? This is a national tournament. We have to go again. There’s no way our hands should have been the same. The whole point of throwing the cards into the hat is—”

“I’m tired, Coldwater. Everyone else has gone home.” He scrubbed a hand over his bald head and sighed. “Split the loot and call it a night.”

Lionel didn’t speak in terms of winning or losing. The only language he understood was green. He’d taken his cut. His job was over. He scooped up the cage that held that squawking bird he took with him everywhere and made his exit through the backdoor.

“Yeah, that’s… that’s just great.” Quentin stood there looking dumbfounded and threw his hands in the air. “Well this is… bullshit.”

Eliot Waugh, the hedge who’d portaled in from the midwest three days ago, who’d been a thorn in Quentin’s side for the entirety of the tournament, rose to his feet and closed the distance between them. “I think I have a solution, if you care to hear me out.”

Quentin eyed the bag of loot—said to be straight from Fillory—sitting near the door. “I’m listening.”

“A private game. Tonight. Just you and me.”

Quentin frowned. “Private games of Push don’t exist.”

“The game I have in mind is a bit… higher stakes than these little tournaments. I know you think you’ve seen it all...” The way that Eliot looked at him felt suspiciously like flirtation. “You haven’t.”

Quentin turned his eyes back to the loot. “How could a private match possibly be higher stakes than a national tournament?”

“The way I like to play…” Quentin could feel his gaze boring holes into the side of his face. “We’ll just say you have a lot more to… lose.”

Quentin’s pulse picked up a little. He refused to let it show. “Look. Stop the bullshit and just say what you mean.”

“I’m talking about a game of strip Push, Quentin.”

Quentin let out a little laugh, a blush creeping up the back of his neck. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, but I am. The rules are simple: last one left wearing anything wins it all. The loot, and the glory.”

“Why don’t we just play a regular game?”

“Because we just did that. And the night is young.” Eliot’s eyes raked up and down Quentin’s body, deepening his blush. “And the way I see it, neither of us has very much more to lose.” He let out a little laugh. “Well, aside from those dreadful clothes you have on.”

Luckily for Quentin, he’d spent countless nights perfecting his poker face. “And a shit load of magical loot from Fillory.” 

“That too.” Eliot brushed it off as though it meant nothing. “You don’t play this game for the loot though, do you?”

“I play to win. What other reason is there?”

“Oh,” Eliot stepped into Quentin’s personal space, ran the lapels of his jacket through his fingers. “There are so many reasons one might play a game, Quentin.”

He could feel his whole body coming to life under Eliot’s gaze. The temptation was nearly too much to bear before he pulled away. “I can’t,” he said, turning his back, stepping a little closer to the door. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologize.” Eliot sounded entirely unaffected. “We can split our prize clean down the middle and go our separate ways.”

“Of course.” Quentin turned back to him, his traitorous heart hammering in his chest so loudly he wondered if Eliot could hear it.

The magical loot sat on a long table in a brown leather satchel. Eliot opened it up and reached inside, pulled out a stubby knife in a leather sheath, turned to Quentin when he approached.

“You want this?” He asked casually. Quentin could feel the magic coming off of it in waves. 

Quentin took the knife and held it loosely in his hand, his eyes fixed on Eliot’s face. “Let’s just say we were going to play… your game.”

Eliot pulled a glass vial filled with a shimmering purple liquid out of the satchel and studied it intensely. “You said no, and that’s fine. You don’t have to humor me, Quentin.”

“Well, maybe I’d like you to humor me. Tell me how it works.”

“Don’t tell me you made it through college without playing strip… anything.”

“I’m telling you exactly that.”

Eliot dropped the vial down into the bag and turned to Quentin with a smile. “Low card takes off one article of clothing, high card does nothing. We go on like that until one of us is completely naked. It’s really quite simple.”

Quentin swallowed. “Okay.” He reached over and dropped the knife down into the bag. “Let’s say I agree. When I win—”

Eliot laughed. “If you win. It’s all yours. Every last magical bit.”

Quentin held his head high and snapped the satchel shut. “My place isn’t far.”

—

Eliot walked exactly how he played: with a smooth and casual confidence, an air that said he could afford to take his time. The world around him could wait. He sauntered into the penthouse behind Quentin and shrugged off his jacket. “Nice place. You afford all this just from playing cards?”

Quentin sat the bag of loot down on the coffee table and took Eliot’s jacket, tossed it down next to the bag. “Isn’t that how we afford everything?”

Eliot shrugged. “I guess. Though… you couldn’t beat me.” He laughed smugly and walked over to the bar. “So… really. How’d you afford it?”

Quentin frowned and snatched the bottle of scotch up from the bar, poured them both a glass. “I’m the best that there is at Push anywhere—”

“Anywhere?” Eliot smirked and took his glass.

“Anywhere.” Quentin sipped his drink. “The tie was a fluke. Won’t happen again.”

“Oh, I know it won’t.” Eliot let out a little laugh and followed Quentin over to the dining table. He did a tut and the fireplace came to life with a whisper, then a roar. 

Quentin fought the urge to roll his eyes. “I was going to do that.”

“Saved you the trouble now, didn’t I?”

Quentin stood on one side of the table glaring at Eliot on the other, the fire dancing in shades of orange and gold at his back. “You’re wearing more layers than me,” he said, setting down his glass and pulling out his chair. “I wouldn’t call that a fair start to our game.”

Eliot eyed him, touching the knot of his tie. “By my count, only one more… from what I can see. I take it you’re wearing a belt?”

“I am.”

A smile spread itself across Eliot’s face. “And underwear?”

Quentin drew in a breath. “Of course.”

Eliot nodded slowly, tugging his tie loose, slipping it up over his head and tossing it away. “I won’t bother asking boxers or briefs. I’ll find out soon enough.”

Quentin swallowed and straightened the line of his back in the chair, pulled the deck of cards from his jacket pocket. “I think we should just get on with this already, don’t you?”

Eliot sipped his scotch and lazily tugged his chair from the table. “Oh, Quentin. Life is meant to be savored. Why would I ever want to rush our little game?”

Eliot took his seat, and for a moment neither of them moved. Quentin worried the pack of cards between his fingers and studied Eliot’s face. Eliot brought his glass to his lips and downed the last of his scotch, set the glass down with a clink, his eyes never once leaving Quentin.

There was a certain pleasure in being watched, Quentin thought. That was always a part of the game. There could be no victory without a witness, no winning by yourself alone. Quentin always performed his best with dozens of eyes glued to his every movement, so he couldn’t quite reason why his hands were shaking when he slipped the cards from their pack.

He began to shuffle, and across from him Eliot laughed. “That how you do it? With your hands?”

Quentin set the deck down between them on the table. “How else would I shuffle cards?”

Eliot cocked his head to the side and set his eyes on the deck, lifted his hands and gave a little flick of his fingers. The cards slipped up into the air like drops of water, fitting themselves into a makeshift hurricane above their heads. Eliot watched with a smile as they swirled, and Quentin couldn’t help but roll his eyes as the hurricane ceased and they came back together in a neat little stack on the table.

“They were shuffled fine,” Quentin said, splitting the deck in half.

Eliot took his half of the deck, still with that smile on his face. “Even better now.”

Quentin forced his eyes away from Eliot’s upturned lips and focused on his cards, let the magic flowing through his body settle into his hands as he slipped one under the table, set the other on top of his stack.

Eliot said, “I have an idea,” and Quentin sighed, waiting for him to continue. “What would you say to an honest game?”

Quentin eyed him. “I’d say there’s no such thing as an honest game of Push.”

Eliot laughed softly. “Don’t you believe in fate, Quentin? Your destiny right there in that little stack of cards.”

“Destiny is bullshit.”

Eliot smirked and shrugged his shoulders. “A dishonest game it is.”

He lifted a hand and cast a small illumination spell above their heads, a miniature sun that glowed brightly, casting golden light over their skin. He could see the color of Eliot’s eyes perfectly now, much better than in the muted warehouse light. Coppery brown flecked with green and gold.

He tried his best not to stare. “Is that really necessary?”

“Well…” Eliot considered him carefully, eyes flicking from his face down to the open collar of his shirt. “Maybe I just wanted to get a better look at you.”

Quentin swallowed and averted his gaze, a warm blush creeping up the back of his neck and across his cheeks. “We should, um… get started.”

Eliot said, “Of course,” and readied his hands, slipping one beneath the table, placing the other over his stack of cards.

Quentin’s whole body trembled, his heart drumming wildly in his chest. He drew in a few steady breaths before he began to cast, centering himself in the moment. There could only be his hands and his cards and his magic. Nothing and no one else.

They flipped their cards over on the table. Quentin’s was a queen of diamonds, Eliot’s a five of spades.

Quentin kept his expression calm and easy. “Do I get to choose what you take off first?”

Eliot seemed genuinely amused. “Well, you’re fairly limited to my top layers, but if you’d like to tell me what to do…” His eyes went dark in the light of the miniature sun. “Who am I to refuse?”

Quentin drew in a sharp breath and let it out. “Uh… the vest. I think. Yeah. Yeah. Take off your vest.”

Eliot considered him carefully, as though he were casting a spell with his gaze. “Good choice,” he said, slipping his thumb along the top button and gently popping it open.

The vest only had four buttons, but Eliot took his time, circling each one carefully with his fingers, slipping them free with his eyes trained on Quentin across the table. When he let it fall open it was with purpose, shrugging it from his shoulders with intent, drawing the delicately embroidered fabric through his hands with a smile.

Holding the vest up in the air with three fingers, Eliot let it fall with an air of high drama at his side, looking quite pleased with himself.

Quentin had to focus to keep his breathing slow and steady, to keep the tension from showing on his face. They readied themselves for the next hand without a word, and when Quentin cast it was with careful determination. His opponent was faceless for the handful of perfect seconds that he worked his magic under the table.

Probability magic is a wild thing, impossible to control even when executed with precision, even when your opponent isn’t tossing something equally chaotic your way to counteract the spell you’ve just thrown off. Quentin had hoped what he’d cast would white out Eliot’s card completely when flipped over. Instead, it was his own card that came up blank on the table.

Eliot shot him a wicked grin. “I think I’d like your belt.”

Quentin didn’t let the annoyance show on his face, nor the gentle thrill that was growing deep inside as he reached down under the table and fidgeted with the buckle. Pulling it free with some effort, Quentin tossed it down onto the table and shot Eliot an exaggerated smile.

They didn’t speak, their faces for a moment placid. They cast, they flipped their cards. The hand came up in Quentin’s favor. 

Eliot lost his shirt, turning it into even more of a show than removing his vest had been. Each button slipped free like breathing, and every now and then Eliot would train his eyes on Quentin across the table, just to make sure he was still watching. 

Quentin couldn’t have looked away even if he’d wanted to. Eliot was as mesmerizing slipping out of his clothes as he was playing cards, as he was—Quentin had to assume—doing everything and anything at all. He wondered what it might take to reveal some hairline crack in that cool, casual exterior. Behind those eyes, there had to be something more.

Eliot dropped his shirt down onto the table, and Quentin let the air slip quietly from his lungs. He straightened his back, flexed his fingers, carefully adjusting his mask under Eliot’s gaze.

On the next hand, Quentin lost his jacket when Eliot countered yet another spell, transforming the face of his card into the intricate scrollwork pattern that adorned its back.

“You’re clever,” Quentin said, draping his jacket on the seat of the empty chair at his side. “But not as clever as you think.”

Eliot hummed. “Agree to disagree.”

Quentin gazed at him with no expression, readied his hand to cast. Eliot smirked as they flipped their cards, as they both came up as equal kings.

“Ties don’t count,” Quentin said, prepared to draw again.

“Not so fast.” He could already see Eliot reaching for his belt under the table. “How about we make this interesting. I take off my belt, you take off your...”

Quentin eyed him, sizing up the challenge. “Fine.” He cocked his head with a smile. “But I don’t want your belt.”

Eliot’s eyes narrowed. “Oh? But how else are we supposed to get to the fun part?”

Quentin felt the weight of his expression down in his belly, and lower. He didn’t let it show. “Shoe. On the table. Now.”

Eliot pressed his lips together in a barely contained laugh. “Yes, sir,” he purred, snatching off his shoe and tossing it carelessly onto the table.

Quentin eyes him incredulously. “Really?”

“You said you wanted it.”

“Yeah, but not…” Quentin shook his head and straightened his back. “Never mind. Do you—”

“Yes,” Eliot cut him off, his voice dripping and soft. “I do want you to take off your shirt.”

Outside, Quentin’s expression was entirely unaffected. Within, his resolve was beginning to crumble. This wasn’t how this was supposed to be. Quentin never lost his cool during a game, and certainly never let his fingers tremble when he should be focused on circumstances and reading subtle shifts in his opponents expression. How could he be expected to cast with precision with hands that would betray him?

He breathed in deep, unbuttoning his shirt carefully, his eyes trained down on his own hands as they worked. Eliot’s gaze made him feel dizzy and warm. He shrugged off the shirt as casually as he could manage, let it slip from his body and down onto the floor.

Eliot’s eyes raked over his skin, and Quentin began to blush, a subtle heat that crept from his chest to his ears. He took a breath, swallowed down the fever rising in his belly. _This is all just a part of his game,_ he reminded himself. _But this is still your house._

Quentin took the next hand with ease. “Now I want your belt,” he said, sitting back and steeling himself for the theatrics that were sure to follow.

The anticipation was terrible. The metallic clink of the buckle as Eliot worked it open, the smooth-glide sound of the leather slipping its way out of each loop, the hard eye contact that Quentin wouldn’t let himself back away from now.

Eliot snapped the belt held tightly between his hands, giving Quentin’s heart a start, and tossed it aside on the floor next to his chair. It was only then that Quentin began to zero in on the deep black hedge tattoos trailing up the insides of Eliot’s arms.

“How’d you get so many?” Quentin asked, no edge to his voice. He was genuinely curious. He’d never met a hedge with so many stars.

Eliot studied the constellation dotting one arm. “Told you, I’m the best.”

“Be real with me for one second.”

Eliot lifted his eyes. “Why assume what you’re seeing in front of you right now is fake?” The illumination spell overhead began to flicker, and Eliot zapped it back to life with a snap of his fingers. “Is your confidence in what you do not real?”

“If you’re so good, then why had I never heard of you before the tournament?”

Eliot smiled and placed his hands flat on the table. “You know what they say about people who assume, Quentin. The world is bigger than your little corner of it.”

Quentin chose to ignore him, placed his hand back on his stack of cards and readied himself to cast, straightening his back and willing all emotion from his face and eyes. 

They cast, they drew their cards, they tossed them onto the table. Eliot had the queen of diamonds, but Quentin had an ace.

He could hardly contain his smile. “Your other shoe, please.”

Eliot tossed it onto the table alongside the other without a word. Quentin thought, for a moment, he might have even glimpsed the tiniest of cracks in his armor.

Two ahead by his count, Quentin cast with a newfound confidence, his chin held proud and high as he flipped his card onto the table.

Shit. Eliot’s two of diamonds beat the dollar bill that was now in the place of Quentin’s card. He glared and pocketed the dollar, then tugged off a shoe without waiting for Eliot to demand it.

But this was still his game. His magic was still much stronger. Sure, Eliot might have been the best the hedges had to offer, but Quentin was a graduate of an elite magical college. What Eliot had to beg and steal for out on his own, Quentin had had delivered to him on an enchanted platter from a far-off land. Eliot’s magic was wild, but Quentin’s had been honed for years under the tutelage of Brakebills elites.

Cast. Draw. Flip. Quentin lost his other shoe.

“All tied up. I think I want your pants next. Although…” Eliot laughed softly, an amused look spreading over his face. “Not much left now to choose from, is there?”

“I could say the same for you.” Quentin kept his voice steady and calm, already beginning to cast under the table.

His next card came up a four of clubs, but Eliot’s was transformed into a fake Monopoly dollar in his hand. Looking at it, Eliot actually laughed out loud.

Quentin leaned forward, his eyes trained on Eliot’s eyes, unblinking. “I think I’ll have your pants now.”

Eliot gave him a soft look before pushing back from the table. Rising to his feet, he seemed impossibly tall as he fixed his gaze down onto Quentin. He undid his fly, making a show of the zipper, slipped his thumbs into his waistband and began to move them down, down…

Quentin bit at the inside of his lip, his face betraying just how affected by this whole display he was. Eliot shoved his pants down to his ankles and kicked them away, straightened his back and rested his hands on his hips. Quentin couldn’t help but let his eyes wander down.

His underwear was black silk that shone in the firelight, decadently short boxers that rode up on his hips and left little to the imagination. He wanted to be seen like this, to be seen by Quentin, there could be no doubt.

Quentin let his eyes rake up Eliot’s body to his face, meeting his gaze in the firelight. And for a moment, there was only this: their eyes, the fire, the long line of Eliot’s wanting body, the rhythmic tick, tick, ticking of Quentin’s pulse.

And then, as quickly as it had started, the moment found its end. Eliot took his seat, Quentin’s blood pounding so loudly in his ears he worried that Eliot might actually hear it.

Eliot smiled at him softly. “Do you need a minute?”

Quentin swallowed and adjusted in his seat, holding his head up high. “Why would I need a minute?”

“I don’t know.” Eliot was practically purring. “You look warm. Are you warm? Maybe it’s the miniature sun. I can put it out if you’d like.”

“You don’t have to do that, I’m… I’m fine. I just…” _Get yourself together, Coldwater. This is all just a part of his game._ “I’m fine. We can go again whenever you’re ready.”__

_ _“Oh, Quentin.” Eliot’s deft fingers moved on the table. “I’m always ready to go.”_ _

_ _Quentin lost the next hand, and with it his pants, at Eliot’s request. “It’s only fair,” he said, with a little shrug of his shoulders._ _

_ _Quentin let out a deep sigh and shimmered out of them under the table. He’d come dangerously close to letting Eliot get the best of him already. He wouldn’t make the same mistake again._ _

_ _He tossed them down onto the floor and Eliot frowned. “Didn’t take you for modest.”_ _

_ _Quentin shrugged. “I wasn’t aware that making a spectacle of myself was required.”_ _

_ _Eliot shot him an amused look and readied his hands._ _

_ _Three more cards. Three more spells. That was all Quentin needed to take the loot and reclaim his glory. He breathed out and let his magic fly. He flipped his card and Eliot tossed his down next to it on the table. Quentin’s jack of clubs beat Eliot’s three of hearts._ _

_ _Eliot sat back and considered the sight before him. “So… any requests?”_ _

_ _Quentin shrugged, his expression not betraying his heart. “I think I’ll let the decision be yours.”_ _

_ _Eliot leaned forward, made like he was going to stand but then reached beneath the table instead. He lifted up a little and shimmied around, and when he showed his hands again it was to drop his black silk boxers down onto the table._ _

_ _Uncertain if he was more relieved or disappointed, Quentin reached for his cards. The spell he cast next was strong enough to make the tiny sun above their heads flicker and nearly fizzle out, needed to be to fight what Eliot was shooting off. Both their cards came up twos with the suits scrubbed right off their faces._ _

_ _Quentin gave him a little smile, stripped a sock off, threw it somewhere behind his shoulder. Eliot did the same._ _

_ _“You know,” Quentin said, leaning back in his chair with a contented sigh. “You played a good game, Eliot. You should feel proud.”_ _

_ _“Oh, I do, Quentin. I do. But you know what they say about counting your cocks…” He paused to laugh at his own cleverness. “Sorry. Counting your chickens... ” He leaned forward, his eyes narrow and dark, his voice soft and low. “Come on. Show me what you got, Coldwater.”_ _

_ _Quentin felt like he was casting under water when he shot off his next spell. Eliot tossed down his card and then leaned back in his chair with an easy grin, watched as the hand came up in his favor. Quentin clenched his jaw and tore off his remaining sock, and just like that it was down to the final hand._ _

_ _Quentin shut his eyes. They cast. They flipped. For a moment, he couldn’t breathe, could only bear to look at his own card lying face up on the table. A shining king of diamonds. His heart rattled his bones as he let his eyes sweep across to the card lying next to it. He breathed in deep and held it in._ _

_ _Eliot’s card was an ace. Quentin pushed all the air from his lungs._ _

_ _The saddest part of it all, Quentin thought, was that Eliot didn’t even look all that happy to have won. Didn’t he understand who he’d just defeated? It was certainly the greatest victory he’d ever known, and all Eliot could do was drape himself casually in his chair and shoot Quentin the same smirk he’d been wearing all night._ _

_ _“So, Quentin, I’ve been dying to know… boxers or briefs?”_ _

_ _Quentin could hardly hear himself speak over the pounding of his blood in his ears. “You can’t seriously expect me to strip naked after…” There was a word for what Quentin was feeling: Humiliation. He felt as though he might choke on the shame. “You already won. Just take the bag and go.”_ _

_ _Eliot shrugged. “It’s only fair, wouldn’t you say? Don’t be a sore loser, Quentin.”_ _

_ _“I’m not—” Quentin bit back the anger rising in his belly, and through gritted teeth he spit, “Fine.” _ _

_ _He shimmed out of his boxers under the table, the anger mixing with the humiliation bringing his body to life, and he all but tossed them into Eliot’s face. _ _

_ _Eliot snatched them up from the table before with two fingers. “Nothing like I had imagined,” he said, studying them for a moment longer before tossing them away. “Don’t look so distraught, Quentin. You played a fine game.”_ _

_ _Quentin’s head was spinning. “I don’t lose,” was all he could think to say._ _

_ _“Well. There’s a first time for everything.” Eliot cocked his head to one side with a smile. “Look, Quentin, I don’t give a fuck about a bunch of magical baubles from Fillory. You can have them. That’s not why I wanted to play this game with you.”_ _

_ _Quentin crossed his arms across his chest and frowned. “So why did you want to play with me then?”_ _

_ _“Well, I was hoping to get you so riled up you’d want nothing more than to fuck me over the table I’d just beaten you on.”_ _

_ _Oh. Quentin’s pulse quickened and his face grew hot. “That’s why you play? It’s just a sex thing for you?”_ _

_ _“No. Well, not generally. I play to win, same as you. But I wanted you from the moment I laid eyes on you back at the warehouse. I never actually expected you to say yes to this, though.”_ _

_ _“You made it so that we tied, didn’t you?”_ _

_ _“You give me too much credit. I’m good but I’m not… Well,” Eliot laughed. “I’m better than you in any case.”_ _

_ _“No one’s better than me.” Quentin sat up a little straighter in his chair. “Not at this game. No one.”_ _

_ _Eliot pulled off his single sock and tossed it onto the table. He pushed back and rose to his feet, standing there proudly smirking down at Quentin in all his elegant glory. Jesus, it should have been illegal to look like that, Quentin thought. Tall and lithe with a face that would have been obnoxiously smug were it not so beautiful. His eyes trailed down Eliot’s body in slow motion, stopping when they reached the point where his cock hung thick and heavy between his legs._ _

_ _“I’ll go if you want me to,” Eliot said. “Tell me to go, and you’ll never see me again.”_ _

_ _Quentin’s mouth began to water at the sight before him, his own cock thickening between his legs. “No, um...” his chair scraped loudly against the floor when he pushed back from the table. “Just stay… right there.”_ _

_ _Quentin felt as though he were caught in a trance, rounding the table and freezing in place once he reached the other side. Eliot gave him a little smirk and then did a tut, clearing all the clothes and the cards away into neat little stacks across the room._ _

_ _“Sorry for beating you,” Eliot said softly when he was finished._ _

_ _“If you’re trying to piss me off to get me to fuck you harder... you don’t have to do that.”_ _

_ _“But you are pissed off.”_ _

_ _“Yeah, a little.”_ _

_ _A grin spread itself across Eliot’s face. “Good.”_ _

_ _Tentatively, Quentin reached out a hand, pressed it to the center of Eliot’s bare chest. “You’re excited,” he said, breathless, feeling the frantic ticking of his heart._ _

_ _“Of course I’m excited.” Eliot’s expression was soft. He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind Quentin’s ear. “Aren’t you?”_ _

_ _Quentin swallowed, letting his hand fall back to his side. “I should go… get a condom.”_ _

_ _“And lube.” Eliot thumbed at Quentin’s cheek. “I prefer the real thing over that ridiculous spell, don’t you?”_ _

_ _Quentin’s head was spinning. How had they gotten here again? He hadn’t even had time to get over the shock of the loss, and now... _ _

_ _“That ridiculous spell has its uses,” was all he could think to say._ _

_ _“Even so.” Eliot pulled his hand away. “Where about do you keep them?”_ _

_ _“In the... bedroom?”_ _

_ _“Which is?”_ _

_ _Quentin pointed to the far side of the penthouse, watched as Eliot reached in that general direction and mumbled a few words under his breath. He snapped his fingers, and distantly the door to Quentin’s bedroom began creaking open. With an easy smile Eliot waited, and slowly the small bottle of lube that Quentin kept in his bedside table and an entire strip of condoms settled themselves into Eliot’s hand._ _

_ _Eliot set them down on the table. “Bet they didn’t teach you that at that fancy magic school.”_ _

_ _“Telekinesis isn’t actually that impressive.” Quentin was thankful to have something other than his urge to stare at Eliot’s dick to focus on for a moment. “And how do you know where I went to school?”_ _

_ _“Please. You’ve got Brakebills written all over you.” Eliot raked his eyes over Quentin’s body, head-to-toe and back again. “Don’t look so offended. You should be proud. You have no idea—”_ _

_ _Quentin went up on his toes, cradling Eliot’s face and stealing the words from his lips. “I am proud,” he whispered before slotting their lips together._ _

_ __This is a game,_ Quentin told himself. _Just like cards, but better._ So he couldn’t beat Eliot at Push, but maybe he could still beat him at the game he’d actually come here tonight hoping to play._ _

_ _Eliot pulled Quentin into his arms and moaned. He was hard and Quentin could feel the long line of his erection pressing into his hip. Quentin tangled his fingers in Eliot’s hair and licked into his mouth, letting their tongues slide together slowly before breaking the kiss._ _

_ _Eliot ran his hands up and down the line of Quentin’s spine, pressed a kiss to the top of his head that made him ache. Eliot was a stranger, yet his touch felt so familiar, and for a moment Quentin only wanted to be close to him. He could lose himself to such tenderness, he knew, and forced himself to pull away._ _

_ _Eliot pushed the chairs out of their way with one fluid motion of his arm. “How do you want me?” he asked, turning around to give Quentin a look at the long dip of his spine, the gentle curve of his ass._ _

_ _“Not like that. Not yet.” Quentin’s heartbeat rattled his bones. “I know you came here tonight hoping for me to… hate fuck you. Or whatever. But I’m not going to do that.”_ _

_ _Eliot leaned back against the table casually. “That’s a shame. I think you’d really enjoy it.”_ _

_ _“Maybe.” Quentin stepped nearer, began lowering himself to his knees.. “But I think I’m going to enjoy what I have in mind even more.”_ _

_ _Quentin turned his eyes from Eliot’s face down to his cock, his skin flushing hotly as he took in just how big it actually was. Why wasn’t he the one offering to fuck Quentin again?_ _

_ _Whatever. This was Quentin’s game now. He wrapped his fingers around Eliot’s length, holding onto him for a moment just to feel it throb. And, fuck, it was beautiful, thick and powerful in his hand. He gave it a single, shallow stroke, suppressing a smile when Eliot gasped._ _

_ __Just like shuffling a deck,_ Quentin thought. _ _

_ _Eliot ran his fingers through Quentin’s hair. “You really… don’t have to do that.”_ _

_ _Stroke. Slowly. Up and down again. The importance of properly shuffling your cards before each game cannot be overstated. “I know.” Quentin pressed a kiss to the head of his cock, lapping up the pre-come with one broad swipe of his tongue._ _

_ _There are so many ways to shuffle a deck. Overhand, preferred by beginners everywhere. Lazy and efficient. Quentin’s grip was loose as he began to move in a slow and steady rhythm._ _

_ _Eliot laughed and gripped the edge of the table. “Is this how you plan on paying me back?”_ _

_ _The riffle shuffle had always been Quentin’s preferred method. Simple in its grace, the cards flowing through your hands like water. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”_ _

_ _It had been a long time since Quentin had last had a dick in his mouth, but he was determined not to let it show. If he were being honest, sex with anyone regardless of what they had between their legs had never been his strong suit. But he had always been very good at games. With a deck in his hands and an arsenal of probability magic at the ready, Quentin felt unstoppable._ _

_ _Being on his knees was its own kind of magic. Not unlike a probability spell thrown off in the heat of a tournament, the outcome of the experience was highly unpredictable, particularly for an amateur. But if Quentin had perfected one thing over the years it was his poker face. And even if he were holding the lowest card in the deck, he had no intention of letting it show._ _

_ _“Hope you didn’t have any plans for later.” Quentin smirked. “I plan on taking my time.”_ _

_ _Eliot tossed his head back and moaned loudly when Quentin wrapped his lips around the head of his cock. There was no way he was going to be able to take all of him, but while Eliot wasn’t looking Quentin shot off a spell he’d learned years ago that would at least suppress his gag reflex for a little while. The right magic at the right time, and the cards would always be in your favor._ _

_ _Quentin took Eliot down until the thick head was just nudging into his throat, then pulled back quickly, letting him slip from his mouth, stroking him teasingly slow, reveling in the little puffs of air coming out of Eliot’s nose as he braced himself back against the table. Quentin did it again and then a third time, and Eliot’s legs began to tremble._ _

_ _“That’s not fair,” Eliot said, but when Quentin looked up into his face he was smiling. “That is definitely cheating.”_ _

_ _“Cheating is the whole point of the game, remember?” _ _

_ _“I wasn’t aware that we were still playing.”_ _

_ _Quentin hummed and licked a line up the underside of Eliot’s cock. “We were playing your game before. Now we’re playing mine. You’re free to leave if you want to.”_ _

_ _Eliot threw his head back and sighed dramatically. “Want me to forfeit, do you?”_ _

_ _“Oh. No. I intend on winning this one fair and square.”_ _

_ _“Thought you said the point was to cheat.”_ _

_ _Quentin dragged the head of Eliot’s cock across the seam of his lips. “Whatever,” he mumbled, then took him fully back into his mouth._ _

_ _Eliot gripped Quentin’s hair and gave it a little tug. Quentin swatted his hand away and glared up at him. Eliot laughed, then moaned, moving his hands back to the table._ _

_ _Quentin sucked him slowly, taking half his length—all he could manage, really, even with the spell—before pulling all the way back again, teasing the head with gentle swipes of his tongue, massaging Eliot’s balls with his free hand. If Eliot wanted it rough, Quentin was going to take him apart-piece-by-agonizing-piece, and he was going to do it softly._ _

_ _In a standard game of Push, the longer the game goes on, the wilder the outcome of the magic will be. Eliot bucked his hips, slipping fully into Quentin’s throat, choking off his air. He gave himself over to instinct for the briefest of moments, taking him impossibly deeper, nearly down to the root._ _

_ _Quentin pulled back, panting, fighting the urge to beg Eliot to do it again. “Now who’s cheating?”_ _

_ _“You know, if you’d just bend me over and fuck me already…”_ _

_ _“That’s not how this game works. Thought you would have realized that by now.”_ _

_ _Arrogance, generally speaking, gets you nowhere in the game of Push. Arrogance is fuel for your opponent to burn. But confidence? Confidence is everything. Confidence makes your opponent second guess their spell just long enough for yours to take hold. A pinky finger 1/16th of an inch too far to the left, and you’ve reduced their hand to a card so low it technically doesn’t exist._ _

_ _Quentin pinned Eliot’s hips back against the table. “All right. How about a compromise?”_ _

_ _“Call me a skeptic,” Eliot drawled, carding his fingers through Quentin’s hair. “But that’s definitely not how this game works.”_ _

_ _Quentin pulled himself unsteadily to his feet and took Eliot’s cock in his hand, nuzzled into his neck and sucked a kiss into the center of his throat as he stroked. “Why don’t you just turn around and let us find out together.”_ _

_ _Eliot gasped. “How about you let me use my mouth on you first?”_ _

_ _Quentin laughed and stepped back. “Definitely not how this game works. Now be a good sport and turn around.” _ _

_ _They stared at one another for a long moment, and then Eliot slid his hand up Quentin’s chest, took him by the nape and pulled him in for a slow, aching kiss. Quentin forgot himself for a second, letting himself melt into the touch, into the warm slide of Eliot’s tongue against his own. But the moment Eliot’s hands slid down and gripped Quentin’s ass he pulled away. _ _

_ _Quentin stood back and stroked himself once, twice, more for Eliot’s benefit than his own. “Go on. Bend over the table. This is what you want, isn’t it?”_ _

_ _Eliot smirked and spun on his heels, pressing himself face down on the tabletop and spreading his legs. Quentin ran a hand up the expanse of his back and then down again, taking his ass in both of his hands and spreading his cheeks apart._ _

_ _“You want me to fuck you, hm?”_ _

_ _“Is the compromise that I have to beg?”_ _

_ _“Oh, Eliot.” Quentin reached for the lube and popped it open. “Begging will get you nowhere.”_ _

_ _He let a long stream drizzle down between Eliot’s cheeks and set the bottle aside. Eliot said something that he couldn’t make out and reached across to grip the far edge of the table. He laughed and took himself in hand, dragging the head of his cock slowly over Eliot’s slick hole._ _

_ _“You want this?”_ _

_ _“God. Yes.” Eliot’s body shook in silent laughter. “There’s no way it’s going to be this easy.”_ _

_ _Quentin hummed. “You’re getting better at this. I’m proud.”_ _

_ _Quentin gripped Eliot’s ass tightly and pressed his cheeks together, trapping his cock between them as he started to move. Eliot let out a desperate little sound and Quentin had to shut his eyes to maintain some semblance of composure. He wasn’t going to be able to do this for long without losing himself completely._ _

_ _“This is definitely cheating,” Eliot groaned over his shoulder. “I have to give it to you, Quentin, you are very good at this game you’re making up as you go.”_ _

_ _“I’m the reigning world champion.” Quentin’s voice wavered as he spoke, and he could feel his mask starting to slip, thankful that Eliot couldn’t see his face._ _

_ _Push is a game of instinct more than anything, anticipating what your opponent might have up their sleeve for you next based on what they’ve already cast. What he hadn’t anticipated was the sheer force of his own wanting. It was all at once too much, yet not enough. It had been so long since he’d had sex with anyone, and he wanted to be buried to the hilt inside of Eliot’s body more than he could stand. But still he was certain he could come just like this, and he knew that he would if he didn’t force himself to take control._ _

_ _Quentin slowed the motion of his hips to a gentle rocking. “Tell me how it feels,” he said quietly, his voice coming out a little steadier this time._ _

_ _“It feels like you’re teasing me with your dick instead of putting it inside of me.”_ _

_ _“And how does that feel? What do you want me to do to you? Use your words. I want to know exactly what you’re feeling,” Quentin released his grip on Eliot’s ass and took his own cock back in hand, started teasing the head softly over his hole, “when I do this.”_ _

_ _“Whatever I say, you’re never going to give me.”_ _

_ _“That’s not true. Come on. Tell me.”_ _

_ _“It feels good,” Eliot’s voice dripped with quivering desire. “Like you’re eating my ass, but different. And it makes me wish you would just put it inside of me already, let me fuck myself on it until I come. How’s that?”_ _

_ _Jesus. Quentin forced himself to pull away. “I’m not, uh… fucking you... without a condom.” He paused to steady his breathing, his cock so hard it made him dizzy. “And I’m not… fucking you yet. Not yet. Just… give me a second.”_ _

_ __This is a game,_ he kept repeating to himself. _Remember who you are. Breathe in, breathe out. Just because you’ve lost the hand doesn’t mean the match is over.__ _

_ _Eliot came up on his elbows, looked back at Quentin over his shoulder. “Everything all right back there?”_ _

_ _Quentin pressed a hand between Eliot’s shoulders and lowered him back down. “Everything is fine. I just need—”_ _

_ _“A second?” Quentin could actually hear the smile in his voice. _ _

_ _“Yes.”_ _

_ _“Take all the time you need. You know where to find me when you’re ready.”_ _

_ _Fuck. Quentin turned away and ran a hand through his hair. If he touched his cock now he was never going to stop._ This is a game, Quentin. This is a game._ He actually started naming off cards in his head because he couldn’t think of anything better to do: king of hearts, jack of clubs, seven of diamonds, ace of spades. _ _

_ _Once in the middle of a match he’d been losing five-to-zero, Quentin turned every card in the deck into a shining copper penny with his face in the center. It was a spell he was never able to replicate after, a heat of the moment sort of thing that nearly got him banned by Lionel for life, but that in the end turned him into somewhat of a legend. _ _

_ _When it seems that you’re down for the count and all hope is lost, you work with what you have._ _

_ _Quentin turned back around breathing more evenly now. He steadied himself with a hand to Eliot’s lower back. “Have you ever come from being finger fucked before?”_ _

_ _“Just fingers?” Eliot let out a little laugh. “Yes. It’s happened. But it takes a certain… finesse.”_ _

_ _“Okay, well...” Quentin took a deep breath in and let it out slowly. “You’re not allowed to come until I say.”_ _

_ _“And what’s the penalty if I don’t obey?” Eliot made a happy sound. “Are you going to spank me?”_ _

_ _Quentin swallowed, his heart kicking into overdrive. He reached for the bottle on the table just to give himself something to do. “Are you always this much of a brat?”_ _

_ _“You’re one to talk.” Eliot let out a little gasp when Quentin slicked him with more lube. _ _

_ _Quentin was good with his hands, always had been. One way or another, everything in his life revolved around using them. Magic, cards, manipulating cards with magic. Quentin used one hand to spread Eliot open while the other teased two fingers over his hole._ _

_ _“Maybe I should make you beg for it,” he said. “But you’d enjoy that, wouldn’t you?”_ _

_ _“You already know me so well.” Eliot was stretched out long on the table again, gripping the far edge with both hands._ _

_ _The way that Eliot’s voice broke went straight to Quentin’s cock. He began moving his fingers in tight circles just to hear the sounds that fell out of Eliot’s mouth in response. Eliot was so slick he hardly had to press at all to slip the tip of one finger into the inviting heat of his body. He pushed into the first knuckle and drew it back out again._ _

_ _Eliot sighed. “You’re a tease.”_ _

_ _“Maybe you’re just impatient.” _ _

_ _Quentin pushed the finger back in, to the second knuckle this time, and waited until Eliot began pushing himself back onto it to take it away. He dragged his fingers up and down, back and forth. He gave Eliot the full length of his index finger and held it there, crooking it just so, dragging it out of his body slowly. _ _

_ _“One isn’t enough to do much of anything, is it?” he asked, confidence bleeding back into him with each frantic thump of his heart. “Maybe I am a tease.”_ _

_ _Eliot moaned. “Feels like nothing compared to how I’m certain your dick is going to feel. When’s the last time you fucked a tight ass, Quentin, hm? I imagine it’s been a while.”_ _

_ _Quentin breathed deep, shut his eyes, rubbed circles into the warm flesh of Eliot’s ass. “I know you think—”_ _

_ _“You know what I think?” Quiet laughter ran through Eliot’s body. “I think you wanna fuck me so bad you can hardly stand it. I think it’s taking everything you have to keep up this bullshit act.”_ _

_ _“If you’re trying to piss me off, it’s not going to work.”_ _

_ _“You’re good with cards, I’ll give you that. Good with magic, too. But you’re not—” _ _

_ _Eliot’s words rolled into a moan as Quentin pushed two fingers inside of him. He went as deep as the second knuckle and held them there, delighting in the way that Eliot squirmed. _ _

_ _“Oh fuck,” Eliot spit out. “Yes. Open me up to take that big dick.”_ _

_ _“That’s not… going to work.” Quentin gripped Eliot’s hip with his free hand, stopping him from rocking back on the fingers buried in his ass. _ _

_ _Eliot laughed. “Yeah. We’ll see about that. Neither of us is getting anywhere though if you don’t start moving.”_ _

_ _“I’ll move… when I feel like it.”_ _

_ _Quentin shut his eyes and began listing cards again—king of clubs, queen of spades, jack of diamonds—then pushed his fingers into Eliot the rest of the way. He held them there, opened his eyes, curling his fingers slowly, and was rewarded for his efforts with a beautiful groan._ _

_ _“Right there,” Eliot breathed out. “Do that again.”_ _

_ _“No,” Quentin muttered, but even as he was saying it his fingers were moving, fluttering feather-soft over Eliot’s prostate just to hear that sound again. _ _

_ _Quentin lost himself for a moment. When was the last time he had felt this way? All those years ago, when he’d first discovered that magic was real, what he could truly do with his hands and his energy if he only focused. He pulled his fingers out and pushed them back in again, worked up an agonizingly slow rhythm, stopping every now and then to rub little circles over that spot inside of Eliot that drew from him such beautiful music._ _

_ _“This doesn’t have to be a game,” Eliot said breathlessly. “You know that, right? We can just make each other feel good. It’s okay.”_ _

_ _“That’s loser talk.” Quentin’s voice was wrecked and there was no use in trying to hide it._ _

_ _“It drives you crazy, doesn’t it? The way I moan for you.”_ _

_ _Quentin knew denying himself was only going to get him so far. He truly couldn’t recall a time when his cock had ever been so hard. His fingers still two knuckles deep in Eliot’s ass, he swatted one of his cheeks with his free hand and let the music wash over him._ _

_ _“Go on,” Quentin said, wrapping his hand around his own cock now to take the tension off. “Go on. Fuck yourself on my fingers if you want it so bad. And let me… let me hear you.”_ _

_ _“Yes,” Eliot moaned, and then he started to move._ _

_ _All Quentin could do was stand there for a moment, holding his dick in his hand and watching his fingers as they disappeared into Eliot’s body. He used his grip on the table to work himself back onto them hard, whimpering in such a way that Quentin knew meant he was hitting his prostate with every thrust._ _

_ _Quentin stroked himself once and let out a little whimper of his own. “I’m gonna fuck myself back on your cock just like this,” Eliot said, and Quentin had to force his hand away from himself before it was all over._ _

_ _He got lost in the rhythm of his hand and Eliot’s body working together, and after a while Eliot choked out a little sob and warned, “I’m so close, Quentin. Oh fuck, I’m gonna come.”_ _

_ _Quentin snatched his hand away as though he’d just been burned. “No. No. Not like this. No…”_ _

_ _Eliot let out a frustrated whimper, and Quentin watched as he lifted one hand from the edge of the table, and the strip of condoms began rising slowly into the air. One square tore itself away and then ripped open, the little latex round inside slipped out and floated happily over to Quentin._ _

_ _“Okay. I take it back. Maybe your telekinesis is a little impressive.”_ _

_ _Eliot spit out a little laugh, and the condom lowered itself down and began to settle around the head of Quentin’s cock._ _

_ _Eliot wiggled his fingers in the air and the condom rolled on, all Quentin had to do was pinch the tip and he was ready to go. It was all so ridiculous that he might have fallen over laughing were he not so turned on he could hardly think of anything but putting his dick somewhere warm and tight._ _

_ _Quentin nudged Eliot on the thigh. He couldn’t wait another second, couldn’t be bothered to give another thought to whatever game it was they thought they were playing. “Get on your knees. On the floor. Now.”_ _

_ _When Eliot pulled away from the table and turned around his hair was a mess and his face was a mask of unbridled desire. He stole Quentin’s mouth in a deep kiss and then all but threw himself down to the floor, pressed his face into the rug and angled his ass high into the air._ _

_ _Quentin’s whole world had one singular focus. He slicked his cock with lube and then went down to his knees behind Eliot, gripped his hip with one hand and lined himself up with the other. “Push back onto it.” Quentin hardly recognized his own ruined voice. “Fuck yourself on my dick. Show me how badly you want it.”_ _

_ _Everything happened so quickly then, but Quentin felt as though he were experiencing all of it in slow motion. Eliot sinking back onto his cock until it was buried to the hilt, the sob that slipped out of his chest as he started to move. Eliot didn’t hold back, working himself back onto it with a greedy, steady rhythm, and Quentin felt the relief of each deep thrust down in his bones._ _

_ _“I’m not gonna last,” Eliot cried. “I’m sorry. Fuck. You have no idea how badly I needed this. I’ve been thinking about riding your cock for three days.”_ _

_ _Quentin gripped Eliot’s hips and began to meet his thrusts. “Did you fuck yourself thinking about it?”_ _

_ _“Yes.” The word was punctuated with a moan. “I finger fucked myself and imagined it was you.”_ _

_ _Quentin couldn’t even be certain that he was breathing. He draped himself over Eliot’s back, began sucking kisses into the join of his neck and shoulder. “You can come like this?” he mumbled behind Eliot’s ear._ _

_ _“Yes,” Eliot breathed. “Yes.”_ _

_ _“Then do it.”_ _

_ _It was like they had become one animal writhing there together on the floor. Quentin could feel Eliot tensing beneath him, and then his whole body began to tremble as he sobbed into the crook of his arm. He was babbling something but Quentin couldn’t hear it, not over the thumping of the blood in his ears so loud. _ _

_ _And then Quentin started babbling too, the full force of his orgasm bubbling up from between his legs and rippling through his body in waves. Their bodies were flint stones that had struck sparks in his veins. Their bodies were a fever raging hotly in his blood. And for a moment it seemed that this might never end, that he would just keep writhing there in his pleasure on top of Eliot until his soul slipped free from his body and his heart blissfully gave out._ _

_ _He could already feel Eliot going slack beneath him before it was over, but he didn’t stop fucking himself back on Quentin’s cock until it he was starting to go soft. Quentin pulled out of Eliot’s body, fell back on his heels and then down onto his back, sprawling out on the rug in front of the fire with his lungs working overtime and his heart ticking like a runaway clock. _ _

_ _“So,” he was distantly aware of Eliot’s voice carrying over after some time had passed, “were you keeping score?”_ _

_ _Quentin laughed. “Not at all. Were you?”_ _

_ _Eliot crawled over and lay down next to Quentin on the rug. “How about we call it a tie.”_ _

_ _A sleepy grin spread itself across Quentin’s face. “If you were planning on staying a while, I don’t hate the idea of a rematch.”_ _

_ _“Is that your way of telling me you don’t want me to go?” Eliot turned on his side and rested a hand gently on Quentin’s chest._ _

_ _Quentin turned to face him, still smiling, and said, “That depends. How flexible would you say you are on the… position you’re willing to play. Should we… rematch.”_ _

_ _Eliot laughed, stroking the back of his hand down Quentin’s cheek. “Oh, Quentin, I assure you... I’m the most flexible opponent you’re ever going to have.”_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you can believe it, there's another 5k words of smut waiting for y'all over in chapter two... 
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed this filth and pls enjoy the additional filth ily all. <3


	2. Chapter 2

Quentin woke the next morning to the sun beaming right into his eyes. After round two with Eliot in bed last night, shutting the blinds had been the furthest thing from his mind. He turned his back to the window and watched as Eliot shifted beside him.

“You’re still here,” he said when Eliot peeked at him through the slit of one eye.

Eliot stretched and let out a contented, sleepy moan. “I’m still here.”

Quentin smiled, his eyes still heavy with sleep. “So... why are you all the way over there, then?”

Eliot let out a little laugh. “You saying you wanna cuddle with the man who beat your ass in Push last night?”

“Watch it.” Quentin moved his body closer, closing the gap between them. “I’m saying… that I’m glad you’re still here.”

“Well, in that case…” Eliot smiled, then leaned up to meet him in a languid, lazy kiss.

Quentin moaned into his mouth and broke the kiss, gazing down at him for a handful of seconds, considering his words. “I…” He blushed a little, feeling suddenly foolish. “Never mind,” he said, pulling away and flopping down onto his back.

“Oh no you don’t…” Eliot rolled over and half-covered Quentin with his sleep-warm body under the covers. “Don’t get all shy on me now, Coldwater. What were you going to say?”

“Nothing, it’s just…” Quentin sighed when Eliot nuzzled into the crook of his neck. “I like you.”

Eliot laughed softly. “Yeah, I like me too.”

Quentin nudged him and smiled. “Don’t be a dick.”

Eliot was still laughing, and Quentin still felt a little foolish, but mostly he was content to just lie there and enjoy the warmth of another body close to his. To feel the gentle push-pull of Eliot’s breathing, to feel his lips brushing gently against the sensitive skin of his neck. Quentin couldn’t recall the last time he’d allowed himself to just be still and lie down sweetly next to someone who felt familiar.

And it was the strangest thing, because Eliot shouldn’t have felt familiar at all. Quentin hardly knew him, but lying there with Eliot’s hand creeping up the curve of his ribcage, he felt more at peace than he maybe ever had.

Quentin let out an easy sigh. “So what are your plans for today?”

Eliot hummed, his fingers splaying gently over Quentin’s chest. “Oh, I don’t know. I was thinking about maybe…” Eliot nuzzled a line up the side of Quentin’s neck and sucked a kiss just below his ear. “Catching a movie or…” His hand was moving now, fingertips brushing feather-light over one of Quentin’s nipples. “Or a show…” His hand started to track its way back down his body, stopping just at the dip of his belly, nosing along the curve of his ear. “Maybe some dinner…”

Quentin drew in a sharp breath, Eliot’s fingers trailing playfully along the line of his pubic hair. “That sounds…. nice…”

“Mmm. I agree.” Eliot let out the softest of laughs. “Or… hmm… I think I might have a better idea. Do you want to hear what it is?”

Quentin was already starting to get hard. “Mhmm,” was all that he could manage, arching up into Eliot’s touch as his hand dipped a little lower before tracking back up again.

Eliot sighed. “How about…” He pulled his hand away from Quentin’s belly and then he was on him, straddling his hips and caging him in with his arms. “I stay here and fuck you nice and slow.”

A broken sound clawed its way out of Quentin’s chest. Fuck. His cock was aching now. “That… Oh, yes. Let’s do that... please.”

Eliot grinned and shoved the covers off of them. “Is this our official rematch?”

“I think that was last night when we sucked each other off.”

Eliot sat back on his heels, and Quentin let his eyes rake from his face down to his half-hard cock. In the morning light it looked somehow even bigger than it had last night, and Quentin’s mouth watered at the memory. The first time he’d sucked Eliot off during their game it had had a very specific aim, but sucking him off in bed in the warm embrace of the dark, Quentin had been ravenous, gagging himself on the thick length of it until he could hardly breathe.

Eliot ran his fingers teasingly up Quentin’s chest. “So round three, then…”

“How about this time... it doesn’t have to be a game.”

Eliot let his eyes drift down to Quentin’s cock where it rested against his belly. “Just you and me…”

“Yes.”

“I like the sound of that.”

He bent down and stole Quentin’s lips in hungry kiss, licking into his mouth. Quentin’s arms snaked around his middle, his hands slipping down the long dip of his spine. It was like he could feel him everywhere, not just on his body, panting hotly against his lips, but twisting in the marrow of his bones. Deep inside that spark in his belly from which his magic grew.

Eliot broke the kiss with a moan. “Mind if I suck your dick first?”

Quentin’s hands rested easily on the curve of Eliot’s ass. “Are you really asking for permission to give me a blow job when I just said that you could fuck me?”

Eliot kissed the line of Quentin’s jaw. “I am.”

“Well the answer is yes.” Quentin shuddered at the feeling of Eliot’s lips moving down to his throat. “You were really fucking good at it last night.”

Eliot let a silent laugh roll through him. “I know.” He dragged his teeth along the line of Quentin’s collarbone, sucked a kiss into the tender flesh. “Do you wanna fuck my mouth?” He looked up at him with a wicked smile.

Quentin felt the question like a spark in his veins. “Is that, uh… is that what you want me to do?”

“Mhmm.” Eliot nodded, then pressed a kiss to the center of Quentin’s chest. “You were far too gentle with me last night. If we’re not playing our little game anymore, Quentin… I’d really love for you to choke me with your dick.”

_Oh._ Quentin arched up off the bed as Eliot trailed his way down his body, nosing a line from his chest to his navel. Quentin threaded his fingers in his hair and held on tight, moaning when Eliot sucked a kiss into the curve of his hip, his cock leaking freely now against his belly.

Eliot pulled free from Quentin’s grasp, shifted his weight, got himself in between his legs and spread them wide. “Here’s how I’d like this to go. With your consent of course.” He trailed his fingers up the backs of Quentin’s thighs, making him shiver. “Step one: you gag me with that beautiful dick. I mean, I really want you to give it to me, Quentin. Step two: I eat your ass until you’re begging me to fuck you. Step three…” 

He ran two fingers teasingly up the line of Quentin’s painfully hard cock, through the pre-come pooling below his navel. “Step three. I finger fuck you nice and deep, massage your prostate until you’re just about to come. Maybe jack your dick off while I do it. I bet you’d cry so pretty, Quentin.” Eliot’s eyes had grown so dark, they almost looked black in the morning sun. “Mmm… And then...” 

He brought his fingers to his lips and sucked, moaning as he pulled them free. “Then… just when you think you can’t take it anymore, I stick my dick inside of you…” He wrapped one big hand around Quentin’s length and began to stroke, the relief of his touch nearly too much to bear. “And fuck you slow and steady. You’ll be so ready to pop I bet I won’t even have to touch your dick after that.”

Quentin tried to speak, but his tongue was frozen in his mouth. He let out a broken sound and bunched the sheets into tight fists at his side, trying to remember to breathe. He felt frozen with the force of his arousal, locked in Eliot’s careful gaze.

Eliot smirked. “How does that sound?” A desperate, keening moan slipped free from Quentin’s chest, and Eliot laughed. “How about this: nod if that sounds good to you.”

Quentin drew in a shuddering breath and nodded his head, spreading his thighs wide as he could manage. Eliot smiled and moved his body down onto the bed, settling himself down by Quentin’s cock and nuzzling against it.

He took Quentin in hand and licked a stripe up the underside of his length, root-to-tip, and then back again, nosing against his balls and sucking each of them into his mouth, lavishing them with his tongue. Quentin steadied himself with a few deep breaths, planted his feet firmly against the mattress, carded his fingers in Eliot’s hair and willed his tongue to work.

“You want me to fuck your mouth…” His voice cracked terribly as he spoke, his face so warm it felt like fire. “Then get up here and let me do it.”

Quentin tugged roughly at his hair and Eliot let him, balancing himself on one hand and taking Quentin’s cock in the other. He hovered his mouth just over the head and smiled. “Don’t be shy,” he purred, and Quentin let the desire rip through him like untamed magic, roiling hot and bright as the morning sun that painted their skin.

He thrust his hips upward as he brought Eliot’s mouth down onto him, and Eliot released him from his hand, let himself be used. Quentin didn’t stop until he had taken him to the root, the whole of him buried deep in Eliot’s eager throat, holding him there for a moment just to let him feel it. And, fuck, Quentin already felt like he might come just from this.

He tugged at Eliot’s hair until just the tip of him remained in the heat of his mouth, counted for the space of a few frantic breaths before pushing back into him again. The sound of Eliot taking him so eagerly was enough to make Quentin’s toes curl into the mattress. He rocked his hips and moaned, the pleasure nearing some tipping point from which he might never return.

Quentin let out a shuddering laugh as he pulled Eliot off again. “It’s so… good. Fuck...”

“Stop holding back,” Eliot breathed, pressing a kiss to the head of Quentin’s cock and licking his lips. “Give it to me hard. Wanna feel you in my throat.”

Quentin squeezed his eyes shut let his body work on instinct. For a moment there would only be this: Eliot’s mouth on his dick, the slick sounds of Eliot’s throat opening to him, the shuddering, shameless cries of his own stinging pleasure. He chased it like his heart would give out if he dared still his hips, like the very air in his lungs would be stolen if he backed away for even a second.

Eliot flattened his tongue, lapping at Quentin’s balls with every deep thrust like even then it wasn’t enough. Like he wanted to devour him whole. Quentin let himself be mindless, boneless, weightless on the bed. Let himself become some primal thing, a naked animal rutting in the dirt with a singular goal in mind. His back arched up, up, up and his balls drew tight. Quentin was going to—

He pulled Eliot off with a gasp, holding him tightly by the hair as he opened his eyes and looked down at what he’d become. Eliot, grinning and feral, wiped at the spit dribbling down his chin with the back of his hand.

“Now that’s…” Eliot’s breath was coming very quickly. “What I’m talking about.”

Quentin released his grip and let his body go slack. “Fuck, you’re really… you’re really good at...”

Eliot sat back and laughed. “Mmm, I’m fucking spectacular…” He drew in a deep breath and let it out. “Now how about we get a couple pillows up under those hips so I can eat you out, hm?”

A little whimper slipped from Quentin's throat, and he let Eliot position him as he wanted in the center of the bed, his upper body flat against the mattress, his hips propped up high with all the pillows that had been under his head. He let his thighs fall open and back against his chest. Quentin had never felt so beautifully exposed. 

He almost couldn’t believe he didn’t have the urge to shy away from this. He definitely couldn’t believe how terribly Eliot made him want to be seen. Being watched while playing cards was one thing. Exposing the most vulnerable and private parts of himself to another in full daylight without a hint of shame was something else entirely.

“Jesus,” Eliot breathed, running a hand from Quentin’s ass up to his thigh. “You are fucking gorgeous, baby. Do you have any idea?”

“No…” Quentin choked out, the word catching in his throat. “Tell me… what you see. I wanna...”

He lost all concept of what he was even trying to say. Eliot dragged two fingers that were slick with his own spit over Quentin’s hole and hummed. “I see you. All of you.” He wrapped his hand around Quentin’s cock and gave it a few lazy strokes. “Might just stay here and look at you all day if I didn’t wanna eat that pretty ass so much.”

Quentin thrust up into his touch, let out a little cry as he pulled away. Eliot settled down on the bed and muttered the words of a simple cleaning spell before spreading his cheeks and nuzzling against his hole.

The first swipe of his tongue was a live wire to Quentin’s cock. He tossed his arm over his eyes and let out a sob. The next swipe was lazy and fluid. It was like the world had stopped. Eliot moaned like he was the one being licked open, nosed up along the thin strip of skin behind Quentin’s balls, then followed the motion with his tongue.

“How’s that feel?” Eliot purred.

Quentin drew in a sharp breath. “Really... fucking good.”

Eliot laughed softly and dove back in.

He rolled his tongue against the puckered rim of Quentin’s hole, didn’t stop until he was dripping wet and writhing on his stack of pillows, desperately grasping at the sheets. Pulling back, Eliot said, “If you think this feels good…” He punctuated his words with a quick pass of his tongue. “Imagine how good it’s going to feel when I fuck you open with my fingers.” Reaching up, he stroked Quentin’s cock once, twice… 

“And then my dick splitting you open, filling you up…”

Quentin let out a strangled moan as Eliot’s tongue made contact with his hole once more, lavishing it like it was some precious thing. Like Quentin might be precious himself. For all his confidence—all his arrogance—in the game that he let define him, Quentin never imagined that he might have something like this. That someone who hardly knew him at all might want to crawl inside his skin, make him feel such beautiful things.

“Fuck,” Quentin spit as Eliot’s tongue continued to work him slowly open. “Please.”

“Use your words,” Eliot mumbled against his skin.

“Please. Your fingers. Fuck me...”

Eliot pulled back, licked a stripe up the underside of his cock. “I don’t know. Think you’re wet enough for me?”

Quentin could feel himself dripping with Eliot’s spit. “Yes,” he whined, and Eliot laughed, clucked his tongue.

“Liar. I’m not finished with you yet.”

A moan shuddered its way out of Quentin’s body, and he lost himself to the rhythm of Eliot’s tongue. He thought of reaching between his legs and stroking himself, but somehow that felt like cheating. Like every ounce of pleasure that he got from this moment should be from Eliot alone. There could be nothing else.

“Please,” Quentin begged, sounding truly pitiful. It might not have even been a word. Eliot’s tongue pushed in past the tight ring of muscle just a little and Quentin sobbed. “Please. Oh… El—Eliot. Please. Give me your—Fuck. Fuck. Please.” 

Eliot didn’t relent. He split Quentin open with his tongue and then pulled back, lavishing his hole with a few languid swipes before diving back in. He was ravenous, and Quentin’s cock throbbed against his belly with each bone-deep moan that slipped from Eliot’s chest and into the space where they bodies connected.

“Please.” Quentin cried, reaching down between his legs and pawing at Eliot’s hair. “I want you inside me.”

Eliot’s body went still, and for a moment the room grew dreadfully quiet. Outside, Quentin could hear the joyous chirping of songbirds welcoming the sun, and deep inside the rushing of his own fevered blood. Eliot pulled away, and Quentin felt his body go cold, but then his hands were pulling the pillows out from under Quentin’s hips, and he was spreading his thighs and settling down between them, stealing Quentin’s lips in a hungry kiss.

Their cocks slipped against one another in the space between their bodies as Eliot rocked his hips, and Quentin wrapped his legs around his middle and drew him nearer, hungry for his skin. Eliot broke the kiss and nosed along the line of his jaw, over to his ear where he whispered, “I want you on your knees,” with a little laugh that Quentin felt with his whole body.

Eliot helped Quentin up from where he lay, flipped him over onto his belly and tugged at his hips until he came up on his knees. Quentin pressed his face into the mattress and stretched his arms out in front of him, bracing himself for what was to come. 

For a moment, Eliot did nothing, and Quentin could feel his eyes raking over his flesh like a kiss. And then a touch, feather light, to the small of Quentin’s back. And a word. “Beautiful.” Quentin felt paralyzed with the reverence in his voice.

He choked out a needy little sound and Eliot answered by calling the lube from the dresser over into his hand. Then the sound of the cap popping open, the shock of the cool stream drizzling down over his hole, the way it warmed right up the moment it met his skin.

“I need you to be patient for me now, Quentin.” Eliot snapped the bottle shut and tossed it down onto the bed. “Do you think you can be patient?”

Quentin choked out a broken, “Yes,” and Eliot hummed his approval.

“Good. Because I want you to come on my cock, but I’m going to take you right up to the edge with my fingers first.” He dragged the pad of his thumb over Quentin’s lube-slick hole, pulling away the moment he started to push back. “You’re going to want to come so badly, but I need you to hold back. Tell me if you can’t and I’ll stop, okay?”

Quentin nodded, and Eliot made an approving sound, settling in behind him with the warm press of his index finger. He teased it around the rim, slipping just inside the tight ring of muscle before backing off, giving him a little more on the second pass, teasing him open slowly.

“Mmm, that’s gorgeous,” Eliot purred, holding his finger still and letting Quentin fuck himself back on the tip. “Has anyone ever told you just how beautiful you are when you let yourself go like this?”

Through the fog of his mind, Quentin couldn’t recall if anyone had ever said such things to him, and letting go had certainly never been his strong suit. But now, with Eliot’s finger slipping deeper and deeper into his body, all Quentin wanted to do was give himself over completely to the pleasure. To give himself over completely to Eliot.

Eliot pulled his finger free from Quentin’s body and paired it with a second, teased the tips of them both across the sensitive flesh of his rim. Quentin keened and pushed back, desperate to be filled, or maybe just desperate to be filled by him. He could no longer tell the difference.

“That’s it,” Eliot soothed his free hand down the dip of Quentin’s spine as he worked both fingers into him. “Open up for me nice and slow.”

Eliot added a little more lube to the place where their bodies joined, pushed his fingers in inch by agonizing inch until he bottomed out. Quentin pressed his face into the mattress and let out a little sob.

“Mmm, you like that?” Eliot’s laugh was easy and soft. “Haven’t even gotten to the good part yet…”

It was the lightest of touches at first, but Quentin felt it in his blood like a fever, the pads of Eliot’s fingers dragging over his prostate. Like being kissed from the inside. Quentin’s cock was so hard where it hung between his legs, he felt like he was losing his mind.

“Oh,” Eliot purred, his free hand moving up and down the warm flesh of Quentin’s backside, “that’s it. That’s the sweet spot, isn’t it?” His fingers brushed it again and Quentin gasped, moaned. “Hmm. I’ll take that as a yes.”

Eliot pulled his fingers halfway out and then he started to fuck, slowly at first, crooking them just so when he bottomed out, playing Quentin like an instrument that only he could tune. Quentin bunched the sheets into his fists until his hands ached, rocking back onto Eliot’s fingers in time with his masterful rhythm.

“I’m gonna come if you… Fuck, Eliot... I’m gonna…” Quentin’s words rolled over into a sob and Eliot clucked his tongue.

“So sensitive. I’ve only just started, Quentin. I thought you said you were going to be patient for me.”

“Just fuck me already,” Quentin whined.

“Is that not what I’m doing right now?” Eliot’s fingers moved fluidly as water, his voice dripping and dark.

Quentin choked out a laugh. “Is this some kind of payback for last night?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Eliot pushed his fingers deep, massaging the place inside Quentin’s body that made his toes curl and his cock ache. “I want you to feel this pleasure, Quentin. I want you to feel everything.”

“Why?”

“Because I like you.” Eliot punctuated his words with a deep press of his fingertips, and stars burst like fireworks in the periphery of Quentin’s vision.

Eliot slipped his free hand down between Quentin’s legs and wrapped it around his cock, gave it a half dozen lazy strokes before Quentin started to babble. He rocked his hips and Eliot stilled his hand, let Quentin fuck down into his tight fist as his fingers ceaselessly brought him nearer to the edge.

“I’m gonna—”

“No, you’re not,” Eliot said gently, and Quentin’s balls drew tight to his body the moment he snatched both hands away. “Just breathe.” He soothed his sticky fingers down Quentin’s back. “That’s it.”

“Please.” Quentin didn’t even know what he was begging for, but he thought for his body to not feel so terribly empty.

Eliot pressed himself up against the swell of Quentin’s ass, his hard cock trailing a line of pre-come between his cheeks as he draped himself over the expanse of his back. “You ready to go again?” he whispered hotly into Quentin’s ear, then kissed his neck, fluttering his fingers against the straining muscles of his belly.

“Want your dick,” was all Quentin could manage. He could feel it moving against his body like a promise before Eliot pulled away. 

“Turn over for me, Quentin. Let me see that pretty face while you fall apart.”

Quentin let his knees slip out from under him and pressed his belly to the mattress. “Will you fuck me if I do?”

Eliot flipped him over, crawled up the length of his body and brushed his hair back from his brow, pressing the sweetest of kisses there. “Oh, baby,” he whispered against Quentin’s lips with a smile. “I’m gonna fuck you until you see heaven. But first I want you to take my fingers again.”

Quentin tossed his head back with a moan and Eliot sucked a kiss into his throat, then moved his way back down Quentin’s body and spread his legs apart. He slicked his fingers with more lube, dragged them over Quentin’s sloppy hole and pushed them back inside.

Eliot took his cock in hand and Quentin threw an arm over his eyes, arching up off the bed as skilled fingers worked in tandem, drawing his body tight. Sweet and filthy music spilled from Quentin’s lips. He was going to explode.

“I can’t,” he cried.

“You can. Shhh.” Eliot took his hand from Quentin’s cock and soothed it down his quivering belly. “Oh, look at you. Come on. Let me see your face.”

Quentin pulled the arm from his eyes and met Eliot’s gaze. Two fingers still buried deep inside his body, the pleasure was like agony. 

Eliot smirked, his face flushed and his eyes dark. “Next time it’ll be easier.”

“Next time?”

“Oh, yes.” He crooked his fingers, Quentin sobbed. “And the time after that…”

“Yes,” Quentin cried out, squeezing his eyes shut and biting at his lip.

“So pretty.” Eliot circled the head of Quentin’s slick cock with his fist, letting it glide right through. “So wet for me. Your dick is so hard, Quentin. I can feel your heartbeat in my hand. Oh, you’re a mess, baby. I wish you could see it.”

Quentin’s whole body began to tremble and pull so tight he thought he might snap. He was right on the edge of some impossible place, teetering on the point of no return when Eliot pulled away from him completely. And for a fraction of a breath, Quentin didn’t think he’d ever known such a terrible loss.

But then Eliot was on him, falling down between his legs and settling onto Quentin’s body with his full weight, licking into his mouth, hands everywhere, fingers tangling in sweat-damp hair. Eliot blindly called a condom into his hand from the nightstand, broke away long enough to sit back and get it on his dick.

There was no room for words between them. The dance of their bodies was enough. Eliot threw Quentin’s legs up over his shoulders and lined himself up with no preamble, pushing his thick cock head in just enough to let him feel it before backing away. 

He pushed in a little deeper, stilled, pulled back out again and teased the head against Quentin’s slick hole, gazing deep into his eyes the whole time. Quentin felt choked with the force of his desire. Eliot pushed back in again, rocked his hips, went a little deeper. Quentin felt as though he were being split in two. Nothing had ever felt more beautiful.

Eliot didn’t pull away this time. He bent his body in half and brought their mouths together, swallowing down Quentin’s moan as he sank impossibly deeper. He bottomed out and his body stilled, his face buried in the crook of Quentin’s neck as he took one shuddering breath after the next.

And then Eliot found his words. “Tell me how it feels,” he said, voice trembling now.

“Full,” Quentin choked out, and then he laughed. “I’m so—Fuck, it’s so big.”

Eliot nosed up the line of his neck, fingers tangled in his hair. “Think you can come on just my dick?”

Quentin nodded, because it was all he could do, and Eliot started to move. Shallow little thrusts of his hips, each one stoking that impossible flame that burned in Quentin’s belly, higher and higher until there was nothing at all left in the world but the burn.

Eliot pulled away and Quentin choked out a broken, “No,” as he reached helplessly for his skin.

“Shh,” Eliot soothed him, settling between his parted thighs, reaching down between their bodies and lining himself up again. “I just wanted to be closer. Come here. Wrap your legs around me.”

Eliot sank back into Quentin’s body with a moan, and Quentin drew him in, wrapping him in his arms and legs and panting into his mouth.

“I’m close,” Quentin said, locking his ankles at the small of Eliot’s back. “I’m not gonna last… I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be sorry.” Eliot trailed kisses across Quentin’s brow, the rhythm of his hips slow and steady and maddening, each deep thrust more perfect than the last. “Want you to fall apart. Let me feel you…”

Eliot’s whole body trembled, and Quentin knew that he wasn’t the only one teetering right on the edge. He sobbed into Quentin’s neck, babbling, hips faltering, his facade now crumbling entirely. Quentin felt him everywhere, pulsing in time with his blood, curling his toes, springing tears hotly in his eyes.

“Want you to ride me until you come,” Eliot choked into Quentin’s ear. “That sound good? Wanna bounce on my dick, baby?”

“Oh fuck yes,” Quentin spit out without even intending to, and Eliot started to laugh, a full bodied rumble that Quentin felt in his chest.

“Come here.” Eliot pulled out and flopped down onto his back, face flushed and hair a mess as Quentin straddled his hips.

Eliot’s cock seemed impossibly bigger in this position, and Quentin’s thighs trembled as he reached between his legs and lined himself up. But his body was slick and open and ready, and as he impaled himself down onto it Eliot gasped.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Eliot groaned. “So tight and wet. Come on, baby. Fuck yourself with it, make yourself come. I’m right there with you. So close...”

Quentin braced his hands on Eliot’s shoulders and started to move. And, oh, he felt everything so much deeper from this angle, felt everything so much more. He lifted up and pushed back down again, working up a steady rhythm, every brush against his prostate a live wire straight to his dick.

“I’m coming,” he whined, though he wasn’t there just yet. He was close, the anticipation fluttering like wings trapped in the cage of his chest. “I’m coming, I’m gonna—”

His balls drew tight and he threw back his head, exposing the long line of his throat, mouth hanging open in a silent scream. All sound had been plucked from his chest, the orgasm ripping through him slowly, so slowly that at first he couldn’t be certain it was even happening at all. 

And then Eliot grabbed his hips, began to fuck up into him deep and hard, wrenching every ounce of pleasure from his veins, his cock spurting untouched all over Eliot’s belly, his chest, all the way up to his neck. He felt it everywhere, like his nerves were being strangled and then caressed. As though he’d died just then and now he was reborn, his brand new flesh being molded to life by Eliot’s hands.

Eliot was coming too, pulsing inside of Quentin’s body and filling the condom, his fingers digging into Quentin’s flesh hard enough to bruise. He wrung out every last drop of his release before going still with a great sigh, going limp there on the bed, and Quentin collapsed down onto his chest.

Eventually, Quentin’s breathing stilled, and he let Eliot’s soft cock slip out of his body before rolling off and down onto his back. They lay there unmoving and silent for a long time, gazing at the ceiling, their bodies pressed together from hip-to-ankle. Eliot sat up and snapped the condom off after a while, sent it floating in the direction of the en suite, and Quentin laughed.

“I really hope you’re putting that in the trash.”

Eliot let out a heavy sigh as he fell back down onto the bed. “It’ll probably make it there.”

Quentin muttered a cleaning spell, dissolving the mess all over their bodies into nothing. He could feel Eliot’s eyes on him then and he turned his head, giving him a soft smile. 

“That was good.”

Eliot hummed and shut his eyes, a sleepy smile spreading over his face. “So good.”

“Did you mean, um…” Quentin turned his eyes back to the ceiling. “What you said about… next time.”

Eliot was silent, and then Quentin felt a hand slipping into his. Eliot tangled their fingers together. “You can consider it a promise. And I always keep my promises, Quentin.”

Feeling warm, Quentin gave Eliot’s hand a little squeeze. “You sure you don’t wanna keep any of the Fillory loot?”

“Positive. I told you, I don’t play Push for the magical trinkets.”

Quentin sighed. “You play to win.”

Eliot pulled his hand out of Quentin’s and turned on his side, nuzzled into his neck with a smile. “And because every now and then a cute boy takes me to his bed and makes me breakfast.”

Quentin laughed. “Well, you’re out of luck there because I can’t cook for shit.”

Eliot splayed his hand out over Quentin’s chest, laughing softly, the whole of him burning like gentle fire. “Well, at least you got the first part down.”

Quentin nuzzled the top of Eliot’s head, smiling wide. “I still want a rematch, you know. A real one. With… cards. Not your dick. Well… that too. But, I think you know what I mean.”

“It would be my pleasure to beat you all over again.”

Quentin nudged him with his shoulder, still smiling. “Watch it.”

Eliot let out a contented sigh and pressed a kiss to Quentin’s neck. “So since you can’t cook for shit, how about I make you breakfast?”

“That sounds amazing.” They lay there breathing together for a moment, and then Quentin’s smile fell. “When do you have to go back home?”

Eliot lifted his head, and their eyes met in the gentle morning light. “I don’t,” he said softly, with a little smile. “Not yet. The great thing about a portal is I can pretty much use it whenever.”

“So you’ll stay…” Quentin started to blush when he realized how he must sound, but he couldn’t help himself. “For… a while I mean.”

Eliot’s expression was soft, and he pressed a tender kiss to Quentin’s lips, nuzzling into his cheek when he pulled away. “I’ll stay, Quentin,” he said, “as long as you will have me.”


End file.
